


Rollercoaster

by Kantayra



Series: The Masters and Doctors in the Matrix [19]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Bickering, Humor, M/M, Mind Sex, Non-corporeal Sex, Telepathic Sex, Traps, Traps as Flirting, black holes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26405971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: The Master always had been exceptionally skilled at mind-fucking. And who didn’t enjoy a good, deep mind-fucking from time to time?The Eighth Doctor and the Master having telepathic, transcendental sex inside a black hole. You know, just another typical day in the Matrix.
Relationships: Eighth Doctor/The Master (Macqueen), The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who)
Series: The Masters and Doctors in the Matrix [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592659
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. Rollercoaster

A pair of hands closed over the Doctor’s eyes from behind. “Guess who?” the Fourteenth Master’s voice sing-songed against the curve of his ear.

“Suppiluliuma the First?” the Doctor guessed.

“Try again.”

“The Great Grand Duchess Blinky of the Argos Cluster in the Fourth Array of the Moons of New Hyperion?”

“Now you’re just being silly.” The Doctor could _hear_ the Master’s pout.

“Suppiluliuma the _Second_?” he teased.

“Oh, you!” The Master gave his ear a playful nibble, twisting the lobe in his teeth until it just bordered on painful, and then let go, spinning the Doctor about to face him. “Guess what?” He was practically bouncing on his feet with excitement.

The Doctor’s face fell. “Oh no, what have you done now?” It was never a good sign when a Master was that happy. Well, unless it was for an obvious reason, like the Doctor had just tripped and fallen out of his clothes and onto some flat surface with his naked arse sticking up in the air. Supposing that sort of thing had happened. Ever…

The Master barely held in an enthusiastic little giggle – a very unnerving sound, indeed. “Come on.” He grabbed the Doctor’s hand and gave his wrist a teasing tug. “I have a surprise to show you.”

The Doctor sighed and let himself be dragged along after him. “Is it a deadly trap?” he asked wearily. “Because last time it was a deadly trap. And the time before that. And…”

“My dear Doctor,” the Master protested with deep, betrayed hurt in his eyes, “I’m crushed! All this time, and where is the trust? I really thought we had progressed beyond such baseless accusations. Surely, we’re finally ready to cast aside our dependence on those old dysfunctional engagement paradigms and instead embody the holistic revitalisation of self-actualised relationship empowerment.”

“You know,” the Doctor said, “you were a lot less terrifying before you discovered self-help books.”

“You can hardly blame me for that,” the Master sniffed haughtily. “Your precious humans invented them, after all. And they call _me_ evil…”

“I stand corrected,” the Doctor agreed. “I’ll never call you evil again. Now, please say whatever it is you’re trying to say like a sane person. Or, well, your best approximation thereof.”

Throughout their bracing dash of repartee, the Master had led them from the Doctor’s room, out through the corridors, and over to the Master’s room instead. He pushed open the door with a dramatic, “ _Voila_!”

The Doctor blinked and stepped inside. “It’s…a giant sphere,” he concluded, circling around it. It was over twice his height at the circumference, made of a solid pitch-black material, and engraved with sigils in Cyclical Gallifreyan that appeared to form some sort of trans-temporal combination lock. The thing loomed ridiculously, overshadowing the Master’s entire room so that there wasn’t much space to manoeuvre around it. The sphere was also, the Doctor was somewhat alarmed to note, humming with some sort of unknown energy from within. “Darling,” he finally concluded, “I don’t mean to criticise, but I really would recommend firing your decorator immediately.”

The Master laughed and came up to stand beside him, giving him a hefty pat on the bum. The hand stayed rather unsubtly on the Doctor’s bum afterwards, squeezing lightly. “What do you think?” he asked proudly.

“Well…” the Doctor began carefully, “what sort of deadly trap is it, again? Is it going to roll over onto me?” The Doctor hoped not because it was very large and crush-capable and he couldn’t really see what mechanism was stopping it from rolling over in the first place.

“It’s not a trap!” the Master scoffed. “It’s a brilliant scientific achievement. Only a handful of stellar engineers in all of Gallifrey’s history have achieved as much, and _they_ were able to use the usual laws of physics and not this nonsense that calls itself a Matrix temporal scheme.” He reached up with one arm and rotated the upper-right axis of the locking mechanism 3/8ths of a counter-clockwise turn, then the mid-centre, and then finally the lateral array.

Slowly, the sphere began to open, and a blinding white light shone forth. The Doctor squinted and then, at the centre, saw a core of infinite blackness. “You _didn’t_!” he protested in horror.

“Oh, I absolutely _did_!” the Master countered in delight, and then the hand on the Doctor’s bum shoved him, head first, into the Eye of Harmony.

“I knewwwwwwwwwwwwwww it was a trappppppppppp!” the Doctor shouted out his final ‘I told you so’ as he was ripped into infinity by the torsion forces within the black hole.

***

Right.

For most stories, that would've been the end. However, this particular story takes place within the nonsense that calls itself the Matrix temporal scheme. So, in fact, the story continued. Indefinitely.

The Doctor elongated. His body expanded to infinite space, and his mind expanded to infinite consciousness, and his existence expanded to infinite time. He felt everything and nothing. Every moment of time extended to eternity, such that the next moment would never come; however, time did not function linearly in the Matrix, so ‘never’ actually occurred quite soon.

The Doctor shouldn’t have felt anything, but because of the perfect counterbalance between the time-dilation effect of the black hole’s event horizon and the time-contraction effect of the Matrix, everything was surprisingly normal. And, by ‘normal’, the Doctor meant that he was still free-falling through a black hole, and every molecule of his physical construction was still being ripped to oblivion, but his data-matrix remained fully functional and aware throughout it all. He was able to literally experience being obliterated within a black hole.

Also, he wasn’t alone.

“Wheeeeeeeee!”

He could ‘hear’ the Master’s mental shrieks of delight ‘behind’ him. It seemed that the Master hadn’t just shoved the Doctor into the Eye of Harmony: he’d then proceeded to dive in right after him, the absolute lunatic.

“You’re insane!” the Doctor telepathically shouted back at the Master, because he didn’t have much else to do but complain.

“Well…yes.” The Master looked genuinely confused by the Doctor’s apparent non-sequitur.

“Why in Gallifrey’s name would you—?” the Doctor began in quite a snit, but at that point, the Master ‘took’ the Doctor’s ‘hand’, and suddenly everything made sense.

A brief discursus on the ‘taking’ of ‘hands’: While they had technically possessed simulacra of corporeal bodies upon leaping into the Eye of Harmony, those had long since been destroyed at the subatomic level, such that they were now a smear of once-matter that stretched through the Eye and into the black, gaping maw of infinity. However, the Doctor’s and Master’s self-contained consciousnesses, kept in a constant state of perfect preservation due to the Matrix’s data back-ups, still maintained total structural integrity. As socially telepathic beings, they were able to ‘touch’ on a mental level that, to a non-socially-telepathic being, would feel essentially equivalent to the literal touching of flesh. As such, the Master copped a socially telepathic feel, and the Doctor batted at the hand that had just goosed him.

The Master just hummed knowingly against the Doctor’s earlobe, his arms wrapped around the Doctor’s waist from behind, squeezing him affectionately. The Doctor knew what the Master was up to before he even said it:

“Wanna do the nasty inside the Eye of Harmony?”

The Doctor thought that there was probably an excellent reason, or ninety, why he should refuse. However, all that came out was, “I’ve never had sex inside a black hole before.”

The Master snorted derisively. “What have you even been doing with yourselves, all these years? Never had sex inside a black hole before…” he scoffed.

The Doctor eyed him back over his shoulder. “Have _you_ ever had sex inside a black hole before?” he demanded a trifle jealously.

“Of course not! Why else would I ask you?” the Master said irrationally.

“But you scoffed at me for—!”

“I,” the Master cut him off, “don’t purport to be a universal traveller of the mile-high club. An interstellar Don Juan, if you will. Trans-temporal Casanova. The Venusian Valentine, a lightyear-spanning Lothario, a renegade Romeo, a—”

“I never purported to be any such thing!” the Doctor cut him off before he could continue alliterating indefinitely.

“Well,” the Master relented, “you could have fooled me. You take your Earth floozies to enough sexually-suspect places. What was I supposed to think?”

“‘Sexually-suspect’? Name one. Go on. I dare you.”

“You were all over the Love Pools of Amorius VI,” the Master sniffed.

“Only because _you_ kidnapped K-9 and dragged him through all the sex clubs!”

“And what’s this I hear about you taking the TARDIS into E-Space?”

“E-Space? What’s E-Space got to do with anything? And Adric was not a floozy!”

The Master rolled his eyes as if the Doctor were being the ridiculous one. “Everyone _knows_ it’s essentially the red-light district of the multiverse,” he insisted.

“Have I mentioned lately that you’re insane?” the Doctor said wearily.

“Approximately two minutes ago. Which is also five trillion years ago. So you’re probably due.”

“Ah good: you’re insane.”

“Aren’t I just?” The Master waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Anywho, back to the matter at hand: feel like violating the most sacred scientific achievement at the foundation of all Gallifreyan civilisation? C’mon, you know you do!”

“Well,” the Doctor couldn’t really deny that, “all right, fine, as long as you’ve trapped us for all eternity in this black hole. Might as well make the most of it, right?”

The Master rubbed his nose against the Doctor’s. “I knew I loved you for a reason. Here goes!” He proceeded to thrust himself, full-out, into the Doctor’s mind, with absolutely no thought for preparation whatsoever, the absolute cad.

Fortunately, the Doctor was used to the Master’s unique take on sexual etiquette and had lubed his synapses in advance, so to speak. The Master inserted himself roughly into all the cracks between the Doctor’s thoughts, teasing at all his wants and needs and failures and insecurities. He rubbed up against the Doctor’s loneliness and prodded deep into the Doctor’s guilt and gave a good, hard hammering to the confounding Gordian knot that comprised the Doctor’s mystifying and contradictory feelings for the Master.

The Doctor moaned in response, all the lust centres of his consciousness flaring to hyper-stimulation. He wasn’t half as skilled at telepathic finesse as the Master (which was undoubtedly why the Master engaged them in telepathic sex so often: he did so enjoy being unquestionably _better_ than the Doctor at something), but the Doctor knew well enough to caress all his juiciest thoughts tight against the Master’s sense of abandonment. Little trifles like: ‘oh, he’s so clever!’, and ‘I’ve finally found an equal!’, and ‘secretly, I always hope each villain will be him in disguise.’

“Ch-Cheater…” the Master breathed raggedly into his mind.

“All’s fair.” He stroked the Master’s ego. Literally.

The Master groaned obscenely into the Doctor’s fear of missing out, which wasn’t missing out on anything at the moment. “Which is this, then?” he asked, plunging the long, thick length of his obsession into the slick cleft of the Doctor’s sense of responsibility. “Love or war?”

“Is there really a difference, with us?”

“Mmm,” the Master hummed right along the Doctor’s id, “you think the sweetest things!”

The Doctor trailed the seductive fingers of his spirit of adventure along the Master’s feelings of superiority, causing them to tingle deliciously, and earning himself a series of soft, helpless whimpers that he would never have believed came from the Master’s mind if he hadn’t been telepathically inside it himself.

The two of them scrambled to grasp at each other’s neural stimulus pathways, stoking each other’s pleasure centres, prodding the other towards ecstatic overload.

“Oh,” the Master said fondly, “you’ve been practicing.”

“More that you’ve forced me to practice,” the Doctor retorted, and – in a surprise thrust – burst open half a dozen of the Master’s innermost fantasies.

Gallifrey was crushed beneath the Master’s heel, and the universe bowed before him; his knife twisted in his enemies’ throats, and the Doctor begged at his feet for forgiveness for ever having abandoned him; he was superior, better, the best, _god_.

And, in a very dark corner, buried and hidden away where the Doctor wasn’t supposed to ever find it, and even the Master only took it out and examined it on extremely rare occasions, was the Master’s most shameful, degrading, humiliating fantasy of them all. Such a simple thing, really, to have tormented the Master to such heights of madness:

Nothing more than the Doctor whispering a string words into the Master’s ear over and over again: “I love you, just as you are,” “I love you…”

The Master viciously snapped the door shut on that last fantasy, and retaliated by peeling back the Doctor’s own fantasies, stoking them to their extremes: the fresh tingle of excitement when he met someone new and brilliant and intriguing and exciting; the thrill of a puzzle to be solved and the curl of curiosity piquing inside of him when a mystery first presented itself; the knowledge that he alone could solve it, that he held all those lives in his hand, that he was cleverer, superior, better—

The Doctor snapped that one short; the Master resisted for one moment – of course he did – because the Master knew that he was about to expose that raw seam at the core of their beings where they’d always meshed perfectly, been _the same_ under it all. But then the Master relented: surprising to the Doctor at first, until he realised that the Master had found an even crueller yearning to drag to the surface:

The perfect companion. Brilliant and constantly surprising, never predictable, always changing. Always there, always beside him, never to die, never to leave, and so changing but _constant_. Pathologically incapable of ever moving on. His forever. Never alone.

“And kind,” the Doctor insisted weakly, because that was the one part of the fantasy that the Master was deliberately suppressing, for obvious reasons. “Compassionate. Someone who draws out my best, not my—”

But with the Master surrounding and infusing his consciousness, the thought was too flighty to hold on to. He _knew_ in that moment, prodded by the Master’s expert manipulation, that he’d found his perfect companion in the Master. His heart’s desire had been there all along, and he’d been too cowardly to look, and now they were together, forever.

The Master always had been exceptionally skilled at mind-fucking. And who didn’t enjoy a good, deep mind-fucking from time to time?

The Doctor certainly did. He let the Master brush aside the last of his nagging doubts, and came in a shower of electrical synapse shocks and artron overflow. _Yes, you’re perfect for me_ , he let his thoughts run freely back down through the core of the Master’s psyche, right to the very root of his being, that central nexus that stayed straight and true (or twisted and false, perhaps, in this particular case) throughout all his regenerations. And then, a bit cruelly and certainly manipulatively, the Doctor added: _Just as you are._

He felt the Master spark to startled orgasm at the very thought, his mind warping and writhing in ecstasy, desperate to bury itself inside the Doctor’s being. The Master clawed his way into the Doctor’s thoughts, as if trying to hide himself there forever, lose himself inside and never come out.

The Doctor clung to him in turn because – _yes, yes, yes_ – that was exactly what he needed, exactly what he wanted, the two of them as one, always.

Their orgasm did, indeed, last always, but it also lasted never. Time and space dilated and contracted, and Doctor realised slowly, with something of a shock, that they were coming out of the black hole, out through the other side.

He could feel his Matrix physical simulacrum begin to reform: quantum possibilities becoming more certain, the subatomic interstices between his molecules contracting from the infinite back to the finite. The Master crawled his way into the Doctor physically then, too, so that the spaces between their molecules overlapped, and their bodies began to reform on top of each other. So eager to get under the Doctor’s skin…

As they moved out further past the event horizon, their bodies solidified further, and eventually their molecules rejected each other, forced them apart back into two separate bodies, instead of the mish-mashed one.

The Master let himself be dragged out of the Doctor’s mind and body with a little whimper of protest, and the Doctor felt a disappointed sigh sink into his own bones at their parting. It had been nice being so conjoined, at least for an eternity or two.

The Doctor’s senses were reasserting themselves now, and he could see a blinding white light. They were coming back into a universe now, having entered the nothingness of the black hole and come out the white hole on the other side. An overwhelming bombardment of sensations slammed into him with the force of a speeding train, yet through it all he felt, digging deep and sharp into his palm, the Master’s fingernails where their hands had clutched each other’s upon the reforming of their bodies, both of them clinging to that one final connection.

And then suddenly, it all came to a screeching halt: the Doctor slammed into a solid floor, and the Master fell with his full weight on top of the Doctor, knocking the air from his bypass, and it was over and done.

The Doctor wheezed a bit to stir his respiratory systems back to life and blinked open his eyes.

He was lying, on his stomach, back on the floor of the Master’s room in the Matrix. They had, indeed, fallen out of the other side of the Eye of Harmony from which the Master had first shoved him in.

The Master shifted so that he was no longer fallen haphazardly across the Doctor’s back, but was instead spooning him deliberately. “Isn’t that a trip?” he whispered tantalisingly against the Doctor’s ear.

“I’ll say,” the Doctor managed hoarsely. It felt as though every molecule of his body had been rubbed raw from the inside which, in a way, it had.

“I was good, wasn’t I?” the Master continued to tease, sneaking one hand up under the Doctor’s shirt and giving his nipple a sharp, unexpected tweak.

The Doctor yelped as the Master had intended him to, and batted away the offending hand. He twisted in the Master’s arms to look him in the eye when he said sarcastically, “Simply marvellous, darling. You do know how to make such a good time out of killing me.”

“No one dies as pretty as you do,” the Master reassured him, and then kissed him on the lips quite ravenously.

The Doctor returned his hunger, hands clasping the Master’s bare scalp to hold him in tight and close, just for a little longer.

In truth, the Doctor still felt tender and exposed from the brutal extremes of intimacy they’d just shared. Given that the Master’s supremely annoying act was firmly – almost brittly – in place, the Doctor had no doubt the Master felt exactly the same way.

Best not to talk about it, then. Preserve as much plausible deniability as possible, the exact same way they always had done.

The violent passion of their kiss turned slow and then eventually sweet and sporadic, so that they just lay together with eyes closed, brushing occasional pecks across each other’s lips. Their emotions came down as they did, the adrenaline spike fading until they were composed once again.

“So,” the Master said, finally rising to his feet. He placed his hands on his hips and gave his back a good crack. “Did you like my deadly trap?”

“Your best yet,” the Doctor assured him, while shaking out the lingering wonkiness in his left arm. “A veritable rollercoaster.”

“Oh, I _know_!” The Master sauntered back around to the front side of his own personal Eye of Harmony and eyed it critically. “Say, did you think that the singularity could’ve been a bit sharper? I’m sure I can get it tighter if I get adjust the…” He trailed off at that point, fiddling with the time-density mechanism on the black encasement device.

The Doctor followed after him, a bit cautiously. “Is there, er, a _reason_ you decided to build a giant black hole in your bedroom?” he couldn’t help but ask curiously.

The Master made some final adjustments, and the core of the black hole suddenly, impossibly became even darker. “There!” he concluded brightly. “That should do the trick.”

“You avoided answering my question.”

“Hmm, yes, I did, didn’t I?” The Master winked at him, infuriatingly.

“Well, then,” the Doctor said.

“Indeed.”

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

The Master watched him with eyes that managed to be both cool and mirthful at the same.

“Want to do it again?” the Doctor finally blurted out in an excited rush, grin a mile wide.

The Master beamed at him. “Why, Doctor, I thought you’d never ask!” And, once more, shoved the Doctor to his death.


	2. Epilogue: Masterplan, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who just want to read this story as a stand-alone, feel free to ignore this epilogue. For those following the larger series, this epilogue (and those of the next two stories) will be building towards an upcoming plot point.

“Honey, I’m home!”

The Thirteenth Master looked up at his Fourteenth incarnation and raised a disdainful eyebrow. He placed a marker in his spot in the book he’d been reading and set it aside on the end table, and just in time, too. Ever disrespectful of personal boundaries, the Fourteenth Master all but flounced into his lap, wrapping his arms about the Thirteenth’s shoulders and pressing a loud, obnoxious smack against his cheek.

“Must you be so constantly effusive?” the Thirteenth Master said wearily.

“Must you be so constantly _adorable_?” the Fourteenth Master countered, and pinched his cheek. “Pouty, pouty!”

The Thirteenth Master batted his hand away and managed to finagle his Fourteenth out of his lap and onto the sofa cushion beside him. The Fourteenth squeezed their hips up tight and cosy together and entwined the fingers of both his hands around one of the Thirteenth’s in a vice grip, but the Thirteenth let it slide; for his Fourteenth, that was positively restrained.

“What’s that?” The Fourteenth Master leaned over him to examine the glass on the end table. “Brandy? It should be champagne! We’re celebrating, you know.” He tapped the rim, and the glass transmogrified into a champagne flute complete with bubbly. He passed it to the Thirteenth Master and then materialised his own glass. “Cheers!”

The Thirteenth Master clinked their glasses together. “I take it you’ve succeeded in your mission, then?”

“You wound me!” The Fourteenth Master pressed an affronted hand over one of his hearts. “With a genius of our calibre, was there ever any doubt?”

The Thirteenth Master allowed himself to be mollified by that. It was always nice to hear his genius remarked upon, even if it was only by himself. “Tell me about it.”

“Our very own Eye of Harmony is now stable and generating its own power. Say, do think that we should rename it, a little branding to make it truly our own? What do you think of ‘the Eye of Discord’? No? Hmm. I know! ‘The Eye of Chaos’! Perhaps a bit too pulp-novel? Tell you what: I’ll put together a focus group, brainstorm some ideas, and—”

“I don’t care,” the Thirteenth Master said wearily, because his Fourteenth really could be impossibly trying: fortunate he’d got himself a suitably hyperactive Doctor to burn off all that excess energy. “Call it whatever you like. All that matters is: Will it suit our purposes?”

“Better than the original,” the Fourteenth Master said. “Would you expect anything less?”

“No,” the Thirteenth Master agreed, “of course not. And the Doctor? Does he suspect?”

The Fourteenth Master waved this concern aside. “It’s _us_. The Doctor _always_ suspects. But I am reasonably confident he was no clue what we’ve got in store for him.”

The Thirteenth Master chuckled under his breath. The Fourteenth Master, not wanting to be left out in the maniacal laughter, had a good chuckle himself.

“Soon now,” the Thirteenth said, “the Doctor will be _ours_ , and ours alone, forever, with no hope of escape.”

“Exactly where he belongs,” the Fourteenth agreed, and held up his glass to toast it.

The glasses clinked together in a promise that, all too soon, their masterplan would come to fruition.


End file.
